


But Not Forgotten

by thedevilchicken



Category: Face/Off (1997)
Genre: Background Poly, Backstory, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-28
Updated: 2007-02-28
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:04:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Archer took the case, it wasn't the first time they met. And now that Troy is dead, is he really gone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Not Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Livejournal on 28 February 2007. "Helen" is entirely made up, based on the mythology Castor and Pollux also come from.

It's been a week now since Castor Troy died. 

Sean decided after the surgery that they all needed to get away and it wasn't exactly a surprise to find that Eve and Jamie wholeheartedly agreed. They didn't take the first flight out to the Caribbean but it _was_ the third or fourth. They've been there for five days now, lounging on the beach under the sun, eating dinner on the veranda as the sun sets over the sea, watching Jamie regain her confidence and flirt disconcertingly with the resort's young male staff. He's sure it's good for her but it's not good for his fatherly stress levels. 

He made love with his wife last night for the first time in months without a misfire or the ultimate embarrassment of a false start. He knows Troy touched her, she doesn't deny it and he doesn't try to sidestep the face or put it aside but somehow even that seems just fine. Adam is settling in with them well, too - Sean's surprised just how well Castor Troy's son gets on with them all. But still, something's wrong. 

Sometimes he finds himself staring as he shaves or he washes, pressing his fingertips to the line of his jaw or the contours of his cheekbones, his hairline, the bridge of his nose. His body feels different and it's not just the fact that the scar's missing from his shoulder; the doctors made the executive decision not to inject his extra body fat back into him so he is different from the way he was before but even that doesn't explain it. He doesn't feel like himself. He supposes that means he just has to get to know himself again, without Castor Troy in his life. It'll be strange without him. 

He's been with the Bureau for years, but he's know Castor longer. It goes back two decades now, before he knew he'd be joining the FBI, back when he was still a student in New York; he was there studying for a masters in Criminal Psychology and Castor was a business student, sometimes writing a dissertation on International Business Law or something of the sort that Sean always thought sounded hideously uninteresting. They probably wouldn't even have met if Sean hadn't been dating Castor's younger sister, Helen, a stunning undergraduate in modern languages. But they did meet, at one of the magnificent Troy family's equally magnificent parties. 

Castor was wearing a red suit, dark red but still oh so very noticeable there in that sea of black tuxedoes. Even then, Castor had a flair for the dramatic; he swept across the room in a roll of handshakes like the party was his and not his father's, kissed his sister on the cheek and turned to Sean - the first words he uttered, leaning close, still smiling, were ‘hurt her, Archer, and you'll watch me feed your balls to my mom's Chihuahua.' He probably would have - Castor's never been one for idle threats - but as it turned out he didn't have to. Helen dumped Sean two months later, on the phone from a study visit to Italy. He found it ironic rather than painful. That made twice in two years that he'd been cast off for guys named Giuseppe. 

Castor called him at 2am the following morning and sounded rather chipper on the phone even when Sean, half awake and bleary-eyed, had to ask who was calling and why the hell he was doing so at two in the morning. He told him he'd be picking him up in twenty minutes and he wouldn't take no for an answer, no matter how many times Sean said it. It turned out to be one of the things Sean liked about him, from an hour later when they were both already drunk in a strip club to the day a month later when his congressman father told him he disapproved of their friendship. But he was 22 then and didn't care, not when his father ranted about his career and his mother came down from Vermont to sit him down and explain exactly _why_ Castor Troy was trouble. It all had to do with his family and their business, with unproven links to organised crime, but Sean just found that fascinating. Nothing could dissuade him. 

When Helen came back from Italy and begged his forgiveness, Castor told him to accept and so he did. Of course, Castor would turn up at the oddest of times after that, with his creepy genius brother Pollux at the theatre a few rows ahead of them or at a museum, browsing the Monets with a girl on each arm and a wicked grin. Sean knew what he was doing and Helen didn't seem to think it was odd at all, not when she stopped by Sean's place on the way to school and found Castor in the kitchen making breakfast or stopped by Castor's place after school and found Sean organising his survey data on Castor's couch. She didn't even seem to mind the times when they made love and Castor joined them, his scent and his laughter filling the room as he goaded Sean into fucking him. Helen was Castor's half sister by the same father, but they were always so much the same. They both lied so well. 

The last time he saw Castor before he left was at Helen's funeral. She died when she was still just 21, shot to death in a hotel room that Castor had left just an hour earlier. While Castor was in Sean's bed his sister was shot in the head and the heart; at the same time across the Atlantic, on his yacht in the Monte Carlo harbour, his father died the same way. His mother died in the morning, at her home in Cancun. Twelve died that night, while Castor was fucking him so hard it almost hurt, laughing, breathless, giddy from it. He was gone by morning. 

He saw him again across the grave at Helen Troy's funeral. Three months later, he was training with the FBI and Castor was gone. 

He almost turned down the case when it came to him, years later. He saw Castor's name, saw the photo and the three-page typed list of crimes he was wanted for, and he almost said no. But he couldn't. Even then, it was a kind of act of vengeance. He'd stop him, he thought, if it cost him everything. It almost has. 

He lies awake in the night - their chalet's close enough to the beach that he can hear the sea if he leaves the patio doors wide open, and maybe the sound should lull him to sleep as it has his wife. But he can't sleep. He'll never be the same again, because the world's not the same without Castor Troy in it. 

It's dark when he leaves the bed, walks to the door and stands there in the moonlight, looking out over the water. He trails his fingers down over his face and thinks, not unhappily, that perhaps not every part of Castor Troy is dead.


End file.
